


The Makings for Home (It’s Wherever You Are)

by Tenoko1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cooking, Domestic, First Kiss, M/M, Podfic Available, Takes place after finale, Written before S9 finale, fanart available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenoko1/pseuds/Tenoko1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metatron and Abbadon have both been defeated. Things with the angels and Heaven have been righted, and in the aftermath... Cas and Dean struggle to adapt to retirement from active duty. Cooking becomes involved, along with dog-eared cookbooks, insecurity, feelings, and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Makings for Home (It’s Wherever You Are)

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
> **There is also a podfic version (audiobook) of this fic available[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1638329)**  
>  Don't forget to leave feedback on all fanworks you enjoy online as they are products of love and time.  
>  **Also, fanart for this fic can be found[here](http://tenoko1.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-works)!**  
> 

            The process to open the gates to Heaven was much the same as it had been to close them- three ingredients had to be collected, one of which was an angel’s grace. The other two items were much simpler and human the second time around, almost commonplace. What with all that it had taken to get them to that point: defeating Abaddon, then Metatron, then purifying Dean’s body of the effects of- and dependence on- the First Blade… reopening the gates to Heaven was almost anticlimactic by comparison. Team Free Will had all just been tired at that point.

            Gadreel had immediately offered his grace for the spell, wanting to finally find some way to make things right not only for his siblings, but with the Winchesters as well. Cas had stopped him, said that if Gadreel wanted to help their siblings- to do it from Heaven; that it was Castiel who had to undo the damage to the Host he’d unknowingly helped cause in the first place.

            The spell’s effect had been like watching the angels fall all over again, but in reverse, pillars of light shooting toward the sky, each column visible for miles. Then the lights had faded and an anticlimactic silence settled over the three men standing in the clearing staring up at the sky.

            Not knowing of what to do next, Castiel had turned questioningly to the two Winchesters, both giving similar half-smiles, hands shoved into the pockets of their jackets.

            Dean’s smile had broadened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He jerked his head toward where they’d left the Impala.

            “C’mon Cas. Let’s go home.”

 

 

 

            They retired from working the field.

            Sam enrolled back in school and spent his time buried in law books as much as ones for lore.

            Things… shifted, and not smoothly.

            The three of them were together, and Sam seemed to have found a new anchor immediately, but Cas and Dean both felt like they were drifting aimlessly. Occasionally, they got calls and helped out other hunters with information for their cases, like Krissy and Garth, but they never worked cases themselves. Dean found his hands itching for something to do, a release for all the pent up energy that no longer had an outlet. The pressure and immediacy of their lives before was gone, but Dean couldn’t shake the sense of urgency, the feeling he needed to be somewhere, doing something, that time was forever slipping away from him.

            He watched as Cas seemed to struggle as well, less with restless energy, and more with simply not knowing what to do now, like he was adrift and anchorless without a mission, granted instead, the freedom to… well, do whatever he wanted. It was a freedom he had no idea how to utilize, and clearly left him feeling lost. Sam and Dean wordlessly let the former angel try to adjust, to get a handle on this new life and make it work, same as they were both attempting to.

            Dean broke after only a couple of days. He’d blinked wide awake at much too early in the morning and needed something to keep his hands busy before he started climbing the walls and screaming.

            Sam and Cas both came into the kitchen still bleary with sleep and yawning, only for them to both falter and blink with a start at the sight of Dean cooking up a storm in the kitchen. There was a platter on the table filled with bacon and sausage, beside it, a plate of hash browns with jalapeños and cheese.

            “Uh, Dean…?” questioned Sam. There was a pitcher of orange juice sitting unobtrusively by the food, waiting to be drunk.

            His brother glanced over his shoulder, not pausing from flipping the golden pancakes onto the already tall stack by the stove.

            “Sit,” instructed Dean, turning with the plate of pancakes in one hand and pot of coffee in the other. “Eat,” he ordered, before setting the items in the center of the table and taking a seat himself with barely a glance at either of them.

            Cas tentatively took the chair next to Dean while Sam poured himself orange juice and Dean dumped syrup all over his butter soaked pancakes.

            They ate and talked, and while the build-up of pressure- of unreleased energy- had lessened, Dean’s knee still bounced anxiously, his fingers wanting to go back to cooking, to being busy again, to have something methodical that required his full attention and didn’t allow him to think.

            While they ate, his gaze drifted over to Castiel repeatedly, taking in the relaxed way he sat, the ease with which he chatted with Sam over the younger Winchester’s classes and calls they’d gotten about hunts.

            There was still something very much guarded about Cas, though. The way he often flinched and seemed to brace himself for the worst when Dean called out to him was like a knife digging into the blond’s ribs.

            He never wanted to see that fear, that dread, that _expectation_ of abandonment on the angel’s face again. This time, Dean wanted to give Cas everything he was unable to the first time, to be there for the other man and give him a home, to teach him about being human, introduce him to different aspects of it people took for granted on a daily basis.

            He wanted to find some way to take care of- and care for- Cas like the angel so clearly never had been.

            The other man met his eyes and Dean averted his gaze to his plate, having been staring as his mind tried to come up with some way to subtly take care of Cas in his own way, in a way the former angel would allow. The other man didn’t need to be cared for, but everything in Dean wanted to, to somehow reach out and hold on, to pour out every ‘thank you’ he couldn’t bring himself to say until Castiel knew how much he meant and was valued by others, by Dean.

            As if on cue, beside him Cas fumbled with a bite of pancake, the wedge only partially skewered falling back to the plate right before reaching the former angel’s open mouth.

            Sam huffed a small laugh. “Way to miss your mouth, Cas.”

            The other man chuckled, forking the pancake again. “This is really good. I’ve never had them before.” He flashed a smile at them. “Humanity’s appreciation for food makes so much more sense when you are one. Food offers more than just physical nourishment.”

            The innocent observation had Dean straightening in his seat, looking at Castiel as the man unknowingly set Dean’s mind in frantic motion.

            Sam and Cas offered to clean dishes since Dean cooked, allowing the elder Winchester to close himself up in his room armed with Sam’s laptop and a notepad and pen.

            Within minutes, he had about ten tabs open, pulling up local grocery stores and farmers markets, easy-to-cook recipes for each meal of the day, and comfort food recipes. He began bookmarking sites like MyFridgeFood and AllRecipes, and even downloaded several apps to his phone.

            He made a _menu_ and then a grocery list, signing up to be emailed weekly coupon ads from all the nearby grocery stores. Snatching up his keys and his lists, Dean headed out the door with a determined grin.

 

 

Sam eyed all the bags with an arched brow, then looked pointedly at his brother as Dean and Cas put away groceries, the former angel occasionally pausing to inspect an item, while Dean tried to surreptitiously study his reaction from the corner of his eye. Afterward, Sam and Cas drifted out of the kitchen to do their own things, Sam to tackle his school assignments, while Castiel worked on his pop culture education. Just because he connected the dots between references didn’t mean he really _understood_ them, and often times it left him just as confused as he’d been before he’d gotten the reference.

            For his part, Dean got to work cooking. For lunch, Dean put a chicken on to boil, before he set about chopping carrots, celery, and onion. Frank Sinatra drifted through the kitchen as he worked, carefully double-checking every step as he went through the recipe for chicken noodle soup from scratch. Once the bird was through cooking, he removed it from the pot and set it aside to let it cool until he could de-bone it without blistering his fingers. He set aside a portion of the broth, sealed it in a container and stuck it in the fridge for later use, before pouring the shredded chicken, chopped vegetables, and egg noodles into the pot of hot broth, and then letting them simmer until the noodles were soft.

            With the lid back in place, Dean began making grilled cheese sandwiches, butter sizzling in the pan before he placed the sandwiches down.

            When it came to the subject of Comfort Food, chicken soup and grilled cheese were the basics of the basics, with the added bonus of not being so heavy they’d all still be full come dinner time.

            Next time, he wanted to buy a sandwich press so they could make Panini’s and Rueben’s properly.

            Sam and Cas wandered in shortly after Dean hollered down the corridor that lunch was ready. His brother had his nose in book, a small notebook under his arm and pen behind his ear when he made his way into the kitchen, just as Dean put bowls in the center of dinner plates. The taller male only glanced away from his book as he reached for a sandwich absently, but faltered as he glanced at them, withdrawing his hand to shoot his brother a look.

            “Dude!”

            Dean glanced over and Sam just pointed to the sandwiches as though that explained everything.

            The blond rolled his eyes. “I’m getting there, Sam, geeze. _You_ can cut them,” he snapped, filling the different bowls with soup and setting them back on their plates.

            From his spot already seated at the table, Cas shifted to frown at the stack of grilled cheese sandwiches.

            “I see no problem with them,” he commented.

            Both Winchesters snorted and said, “You have to cut them or the magic doesn’t work,” causing them both to grin at the other one and laugh.

            As they came to the table carrying plates now holding soup and cut sandwiches, Dean explained, “It’s something our mom use to tell me, and I would later tell Sam. Chicken soup and a grilled cheese will cure anything you’ve got, or make a bad day better, _but_ the magic won’t work if the sandwiches aren’t cut diagonally.” Cas dropped his gaze, frowning in contemplation at his food, then back at Dean who shrugged. “It’s in the little details, Cas, now eat up. Sam, no work at the table. Put the book away.”

            The younger of the two rolled his eyes in exasperation, but did as told and they ate in silence.

Dipping the corner of his sandwich in his bowl before biting into it, Sam sighed contentedly. “Oh yeah. I needed this. This week has been brutal.”

            “Did you accidentally take case work to class again?” questioned Dean, watching as Cas considered Sam’s food, then mimicked him, expression wary and curious in one.

            The blond bit back a grin and focused his attention on Sam as the other man launched into a rant about having accidentally taken a book on demonology to one of his lectures and the nightmare than had ensued, feeling more of the pent up tension release as he did.

 

            For dinner, Dean made chicken pot pie and buttered rolls. The rolls were premade and were the next thing on Dean’s list to learn to make. For the night though, they would have to do. He took out the extra vegetables he’d chopped earlier and put them in a saucepan to boil with a little salt and pepper, before getting out another to make his gravy in.

            At some point, Cas came in for a glass of water and stopped to lean against the doorframe, arms folded, and watched as Dean cooked.

            Putting the other saucepan on a burner, Dean melted his butter on a medium heat, glancing once more at the recipe before pouring in the chopping onions, minced garlic, and mushrooms, smirking to himself at the smells produced by the mixture as they all mixed together and the onions began to turn translucent. He began to slowly mix in his flour, milk, and the broth he’d set aside from lunch. As the smell of it began to fill the kitchen, he couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his features, pleased by what felt like a point on the board in his favor.

            He didn’t notice the angel standing in the doorway until he’d finished trimming the top crust of the pie and was putting it on a pan to place in the oven.

            “Hey,” he greeted, a little thrown at having been caught off guard and having no idea how long he’d been being observed.

            “You enjoy this,” stated Cas, as though having discovered something new and wonderful. He gestured to the counter and stove. “The preparation of meals. More so than the actual consumption.”

            Setting the timer, Dean began cleaning up, moving bowls into the sink and starting hot water.

            “Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that, they’re completely different, but…” He idly wiped a soapy rag over the counter, trailing off as he considered it, before he finally nodded and moved to clean the used dishes. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s different, fulfilling in a way. You’re busy with your hands, and it’s methodical, but you are also doing something, making something a step at a time to share and give to others that they can enjoy, too. Kinda like working on cars, in a way.” He shrugged. “I’ve always kind of liked it, and now that we actually have our own kitchen, why not, right?”

            The former angel inclined his head in acknowledgement, before pushing away from the door and rolling up his sleeves.

            “Since you’ve gone through all this effort to cook, I will help with cleanup.”

            “You don’t have to, Cas,” Dean argued, even as he watched the other man dip his hands into the soapy water. “It’s not that much, really.”

            “This is the part where I ignore your protestations, Dean.”

            Snorting a laugh, the hunter rolled his eyes and moved over to the sink as well, grabbing a dish towel.

            “Fine. You wash. I’ll dry.”

 

 

Over the next several weeks, Dean began watching episodes of cooking shows on his laptop while in the privacy of his own room. He meticulously wrote down recipes step-by-step and re-played tricky segments repeatedly, committing the chef’s precise actions to memory and making side notations to the instructions.

            He began trying different recipes; like breakfast quiches that were filled with sausage, peppers, eggs, and cheese. He bought that sandwich press and tried different types of specialty sandwiches for lunch, experimenting with different breads- all store bought- and meats to find what combinations he liked most, which one’s fillings blended together the best. He made casseroles for easy left-overs they could eat on, and learned how to roast a chicken covered in lemon and herbs and surrounded by red potatoes and vegetables.

In the back of his notebook of handwritten recipes, Dean had several pages dog-eared, writing down foods that seemed to be the biggest hit with Castiel as he discovered them. He had another page for the foods that had been eaten simply for the sake they had been prepared and need not be wasted, because Castiel would never actually say when he didn’t care for something.

            But Dean was watching his every reaction so closely; he’d begun to pick up on the way Cas ate less when it was something he didn’t like; the way he unconsciously smiled when trying something he did. Dean saw… and made notes. Sam had reached curiously for the notebook once, and promptly gotten smacked across the knuckles with a wooden spoon for his efforts, without Dean ever glancing away from cookbook he had propped up, a piece of glass placed over the open pages to keep the book open for him.

            More and more often, Castiel kept finding his way into the kitchen as Dean cooked, would watch the hunter’s deft movements silently, blue eyes lingering on the blond’s hands, or would give his opinion when Dean used him as a taste-tester, until one day, the hunter finally gave the other man a knife, and the two of them began prepping and chopping ingredients for dinner in comfortable silence as a blues record played in the background.

            The two of them settled into a comfortable routine, the swirling storm of anxiety all but gone as Dean easily taught Castiel the basics of cooking and they began trying recipes not quite so easy as simply following outlined instructions- like breads and pie crusts from scratch, both frowning and re-watching videos to see where they messed up when things didn’t turn out like they were supposed to, when pie crusts turned out crunchy rather than flaky, or when yeast didn’t activate and their bread didn’t rise.

            With all the added cooking and lack of hunts, all three of them had to adjust their workout regimens accordingly, Cas trying various exercises before he settled into a routine of running and yoga with Sam and then Tai Chi on his own.

            Slowly… things settle into a comfortable routine in the bunker.

            Castiel seemed to find cooking as cathartic as Dean did, visibly relaxed as his hands kneaded and rolled and mixed. The too often present frown of his mouth and the furrow of his brows disappeared as he chopped vegetables and taste-tested a new soup recipe as it simmered, both of them offering out a spoon to the other to taste and see if what they were cooking needed something else.

            Once, they ended up sitting at the kitchen table with spoons and eating chunky chocolate chip brownie batter as they talked and chuckled in low tones, and then just smiled at each other when Sam voiced an indignant whine of disappointment, running a finger over the scraped clean bowl and frowning dejectedly.

 

            If you had asked him, Dean never would have thought the grocery store was the place a person would have life epiphanies and gut wrenching realizations.

            They’d split the week’s grocery list, Cas venturing off with a basket in the crook of his arm while Dean pushed the cart. He was on the seasoning aisle, one hand raised to grab a container of basil, and mind already thinking about the two of them cooking as soon as they got home. They’d sat at the table the night before going through the week’s coupons and creating a grocery list and menu for the week. Crazy as it might sound, Dean was looking forward to their time in the kitchen; they were his favorite parts of the day.

            That was when he realized it: Dean was _happy_. With his life and dog-eared recipe collection, and time, more often than not, spent in the kitchen. It was a strange and rather exhilarating realization. It made him grin as he grabbed his purchase and tossed it in the buggy, before continuing down the aisle humming contentedly. It wasn’t a life filled with do-or-die anymore. His life was simple and quiet: he helped with information on cases, customized and outfitted hunters’ vehicles, and cooked with Castiel. The two of them were a team in the kitchen, working with the same intuitive ease around each other as they always had.

            This was something he could be happy with for the rest of his life, he realized. This, whatever it was, worked, as unanticipated as it may have been.

            He grabbed Sam’s chunky peanut butter as he rounded the corner, mind toying with the idea of seeing if Cas would want to try the recipe for stuffed chicken breast filled with pesto and cheese, rolled and tied, then slow-baked in the oven.

            He faltered at the end of the aisle, blinking and frowning when he saw Cas. The former angel was talking to one of the employees, a young woman with chocolate brown skin and her tiny neat braids pulled back into another braid. She was pretty- _really_ pretty- and her full focus was on Castiel as they spoke, a grin lighting up her face when she made him chuckle.

            The sight was like a stab to the heart. She was clearly interested and flirting, and Cas… God, Cas was smiling back and obviously amused by whatever they were talking about.

            The fear and panic that hit Dean then were like a physical blow, and made his grip tighten until his knuckles turned white on their shopping cart. All blood drained from his face as he was viciously reminded that this happiness he’d felt would only be temporary. At any given time or day, Cas would figure out all the better options available to him in life and _leave_. With the false records Charlie and Sam had created for him, Castiel could easily get a _good_ job working as a professor at the very same school Sam was enrolled in, or _anywhere_ he wanted.

            God, now that he thought about it, Dean had no idea why Cas was staying with them, other than perhaps because he felt he had nowhere else to go at the moment, didn’t feel secure in venturing out into the world on his own just yet. Eventually, that would change. With time, Cas would begin to find out for himself what he really wanted: to have his own life and live for himself for the first time in his millennia of existence… and then he would leave.

            Castiel _would_ leave. Just like Dad had done, like Sam had- and would eventually do again.

            And then Dean would be alone. Alone and what purpose would he serve then? Sure, he could still keep helping other hunters with info and their vehicles, but the idea of the Men of Letters base- their home- without Castiel- and eventually without Sam in it… made it not feel like a home anymore. Made it seem more like a cage. A prison to serve out his life.

            God, and wasn’t that pathetic on his part, to know he wouldn’t survive on his own, wouldn’t be able to withstand the loneliness and oppressive silence. Sam had been right: Dean was weak and needy, and on his own would fade and die, miserable and unhappy.

            But was he selfish enough to want to hold the people he cared the most about back, just because he needed them? Because without them he was a passing shade?

            He watched as Cas smiled at something the apron-clad employee stated, the tips of her fingers gently touching his arm as they both laughed.

            No. Dean would never do anything to deprive Cas or Sam of all the nice things they deserved. He wanted them to have everything they ever hoped for, even if that meant Dean lost them in the process.

            It was then that Cas happened to look up and spot him, his smile shifting from amusement to something soft and warm, before he motioned to the hunter with a word and the pair parted ways. The former angel made his way over to Dean, blue gaze falling to the buggy.

            “Did you find everything on your list? The only other things we need are at the farmer’s market.”

            The blond could barely speak for the lump in his throat, the way the muscles constricted tightly. He nodded stiffly instead, before turning the cart around and moving toward the front of the store to check out.

            The ride home was oppressive and silent, Dean gripping the wheel tighter than necessary and driving too fast, antsy to get home and into the kitchen, to throw himself into cooking in the hopes that might calm him down. If he kept his hands busy enough, maybe his brain would stop screaming so loudly.

            In the passenger seat beside him, Cas shifted uncomfortably in the tension, frowning and stealing side long glances at the man beside him. Several times, Cas would open his mouth to ask or question, and Dean’s grip on the wheel would tighten, whole body braced, fully prepared to hear Castiel say that it was time he moved out and on. Seeing this reaction though, Cas shut his mouth again and they made it back to the bunker without a word passing between them.

            When they got home and unloaded, Dean insisted Cas take the night off from cooking, that there was no need for both of them and that Dean had it under control, _really_.

            As soon as the former angel relented, Dean threw himself into cooking. He put away groceries and turned on their typical cooking playlist of Jazz and Ragtime, only to viciously stab the button to turn the music off almost immediately, glowering at the device that clearly mocked him.

            He donned his apron and made dough first, letting the familiar rhythmic movements and scent wash over him, his brain bringing to the forefront what the rolls would taste like fresh out of the oven with melting butter spread across the tops.

            Setting the dough aside to rise, Dean prepared the fresh asparagus, then rolled them in olive oil and sprinkled a dash of garlic over the green spears before  placing the pan in the oven to partially cook.

            He and Cas had wanted to try the rolled pesto chicken recipe together, so though he wanted the challenge of the unfamiliar, he by-passed that one and started on a different one instead, crossing it off his list of recipes Castiel had voiced interest in tasting, and resisted the urge to throw the notebook of hand-written notes and recipes- all with Cas in mind- across the room.

            In a bowl, he mixed his chicken coating of mayo and Dijon, lemon juice and zest, tarragon, salt and pepper, stirring them viciously and resenting everything he’d come to love about the kitchen-  the peace and contentment he normally found there.

            From his position unnoticed in the shadows of the doorway, Cas watched Dean’s angry movements and said nothing, stayed just out of sight with his arms folded and brow furrowed.

            The hunter beat the chicken too hard, pounding it with their little hammer harder that was required, knowing that if he wasn’t careful, their dinner was going to end up looking like a massacre rather than a meal, which would lead to questions and just no.

            Scowling, he put fresh sliced provolone across each pummeled chicken breast, then took the asparagus spears and rolled several into each one, tucking them seam-side down on the tray. He then covered them in the mixture he’d made earlier, and sprinkled them with panko crumbs. That finished, he took out a muffin pan and sprayed it down before pinching off bits of his prepped dough and rolling them into balls, dropping three in every cup, he basted the tops with egg, before putting both trays in the oven, and shutting the door harder than needed.

            Once the main dishes were in the oven, Dean took out a frozen mix of cut carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower, de-thawing them in water before placing the contents in a large stir-fry pan with olive oil, minced garlic, and pepper.

            The finished meal turned out delicious, as he knew it would, but Dean couldn’t enjoy it, poking bitterly at his food and scowling more than eating. Cas was quiet, too, though he made a point to compliment the meal and insist there was no reason for Dean to have cooked alone. The hunter brushed off the comments with a dismissive explanation that he’d just been keyed up was all. At this, both Cas and Sam offered to clean the kitchen in return, but Dean brushed that off as well, giving some excuse about having too much energy and that they ought to go put on a movie and hang out. Dean would finish up in the kitchen, no problem.

            He missed the way Castiel’s expression fell at the brush off, didn’t see the subdued way Cas headed off to his own room, Sam’s worried gaze following after him and then back to his brother, before leaving as well. Alone, Dean scrubbed dishes too long and too hard, and felt no better for it in the end.

 

 

            Certain it was only a matter of time until Cas announced he was leaving, Dean went back to his original plan of trying to take care of the other man the only way he knew how, to make up for all the times he’d failed in the past, to apologize for all the things he couldn’t be in the future, to do what he could while he still had the man in his life.

            When both Cas and Sam came into the kitchen the next morning, Dean had already finished making muffins and set a basket of them in the center of the table, along with glasses and the milk. Sam blinked with a start, then looked questioning across the table to Cas as he gingerly took one of the breakfast pastries, considering it with a frown.

“You didn’t have to do all the cooking again, Dean,” the former angel began carefully, before his blue eyes swept over to the other man who had yet to look directly at him.

The hunter waved him off and began cleaning the muffin pan with a hot, soapy rag. “It’s no big deal. I woke up early with energy to spare is all.”

            Dean had similar excuses over the next several days, either he got up early and cooked or made a meal so big they were eating left-overs, ensuring he didn’t end up trapped alone in the kitchen with Castiel.

            He’d known it would only be a matter of time before his avoidance methods failed him, before Sam stopped stealing worried glances and just asked, but he hadn’t expected it so soon, and hadn’t expected it to be Cas that would confront him.

            “Do you want me to leave again?” the voice questioned behind him.

            It was the question _itself_ that startled Dean so badly he ended up knocking the bowl of apples he was peeling into the sink. He whirled sharply, the knife still clutched too tight in one hand as the small of his back slammed against the edge of the counter, his heart hammering against his ribs.

            Castiel watched him calmly from the doorway while Dean was torn between the urge to close the space between them and fleeing from the room.

            “What?” he demanded in surprise. “No!” God knew that was the _last_ thing Dean wanted.

            Accepting this with a nod, Cas came down the two steps into the kitchen, arms folding. Dean set the knife aside, realizing there would be no avoiding whatever Castiel had on his mind, and it would be best to not have something sharp in hand with what was coming.

            When Dean turned back to look at him, the carefully crafted mask on the other man’s face was gone, revealing hurt and confusion as he asked,

            “Then why are you pushing me away, Dean?” he gestured around them. “Why are you avoiding me, putting up those walls of yours?” Their gazes met and Cas shook his head. “If you aren’t pushing _me_ away, it just means you’re _pulling_ away, and I want to know _why_ so I can _fix it_!”

            The blond swallowed thickly, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, unsure of how to articulate the inevitable- and that while he wouldn’t begrudge Cas’ decision to go, he also couldn’t survive it.

            “We had something good,” Cas continued. “I thought we were okay, past all the things that happened with the war against Raphael, and then in Purgatory, and the Fall, and I thought…” His words failed him and he looked away. “I thought I was home and that you were genuinely happy for the first time in all the years we’ve been friends.”

            Dean took a step forward, one hand reaching before he could stop himself, horrified by the loss and grief on the other man’s face.

            “I was! You are! God, Cas.”

            Frustrated, the former angel threw up his hands, looking beseechingly at Dean. “Then what happened? Why are you pushing me away unless you want me to leave again?”

            “I don’t want you to leave,” Dean insisted.

            Expression growing angry, Castiel demanded, “But it’s for my own good and I need to, is that it?”

            “What? No, I- Cas, I’m not trying to get you leave. The _last_ thing I want is for you to leave.”

            “Then what _do_ you want?” Castiel threw back angrily.

            “I want you to stay!” Dean nearly shouted back. “I want you here and safe. I want to properly teach you about being human this time, to take care of _you_ for once. I want this to always be home and a source of comfort for you.” His voice cracked and softened as he repeated, “I want you to stay.”

            Realization dawned in those blue eyes, Cas seeming to straightened and relax at once. “You think I’ll _choose_ to leave this time…”

            Unable to meet his eye, Dean cast his gaze away, feeling heat rising to his face as he admitted, “I can’t think of any reason why you _wouldn’t_ want to.”

            He heard Cas’ long in draw of breath before he let it out in a heavy sigh, “Oh my poor, beautiful human…” That startled Dean into looking up, blinking in confusion as Cas regarded him pityingly. “All these years and you are _still_ that broken soul that doesn’t think himself worth being saved, not even from the Pit.” He shook his head, coming closer until he raised his hands and cupped the sides of Dean’s face in his hands. Blue eyes played over the hunter’s face, thumb stroking once. “What I wouldn’t give to have been sent into your life so much sooner, to not have had to wait until the Righteous Man needed to be saved from Hell, to not let life have broken you so much you see no value in yourself at all, save for if you can be used as a weapon.”

            Struggling to maintain his composure, Dean shut his eyes, swallowing and forcing himself not to press his cheek against the warmth of Castiel’s palm before the angel’s hands fell away and back down to his sides.

            “I _chose_ to stay on earth, Dean.” The hunter’s eyes slid open to peer back at the man focused so intently on him. “Time and again, Heaven made me choose: between orders and what I believed, between loyalty and morality, between them… and you. I have always, and _will_ always, choose you.” He shook his head, looking devastated and confused, hands curling in Dean’s outer shirt. “I love you, and my home is wherever you are. For the first time in my _entire existence_ , I’ve been _happy_ , Dean, and you are the cause of it. I want what we have here- taking calls for information and helping Sam with his classes, of you and I learning new recipes and how to cook things neither one of us has ever had. I want to take care of you, and for us to learn how to just be _us_ and human and for it to be okay. _I want to stay._ ”

            Trembling, uncertain hands rose, then hesitated, pulling back without ever touching. Tongue darting out over his bottom lip, Dean’s gaze fell to Castiel’s mouth.

            “Say it again,” he asked weakly, barely managing to keep from begging.

            “I love you.”

            Huffing a wet laugh, Dean gave a single shake of his head, hands curling in the other man’s shirt and drawing him in closer, their mouths not yet touching. “No, the other part.”

            Leaning in, Cas brushed his mouth across Dean’s cheek and jaw, not missing the way the hunter seemed barely able to hold himself in composure, closing his eyes as Cas said, “I want to stay.”

            Lifting his hand, Dean slid his fingers into the dark strands of Cas’ hair. “Then stay,” he insisted, before brushing their mouths together once, and then slotting them fully together, their lips moving against each other’s, hands clutching tightly and Dean felt everything in his body melt, liquefy into a puddle of boneless joy and relief. For once in his entire existence, he wasn’t being given something wonderful only to have it snatched away, wasn’t going to be forced to walk away from it himself. _‘I will always choose you.’_

Theyfinally broke apart again, Dean pressing a kiss to the end of Cas’ nose then his forehead, the angel humming contentment, eyes still closed and smile curling the corners of his mouth.

“Please stay,” Dean said, voice a raw whisper of earnest desire.

            “Always,” promised Cas, before leaning up, and drawing Dean’s mouth back down to his own.

 

 

END

Thank you everyone who made fanart for this fic!

[ ](http://deepfoxden.tumblr.com/post/117352296210/sketch-from-tenoko1-s-fanfic-the-makings-for)

[ ](http://charliewomanofletters.tumblr.com/post/91501537522/tenoko1-asked-me-to-make-cover-art-for-her)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Makings for Home (It’s Wherever You Are)[podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1638329) by [Tenoko1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenoko1/pseuds/Tenoko1)




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